


Vocational Obstructions

by MostFacinorous



Series: Vocations [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe- Priests, Drug Dealing, F/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-25
Updated: 2012-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-17 01:12:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostFacinorous/pseuds/MostFacinorous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Father Peter runs the seminary. <br/>Lydia Martin helps run the most powerful drug ring in town. <br/>And she's blackmailing him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vocational Obstructions

"Your nephew is breaking his vows."

Not the wakeup call that Peter would have chosen for himself, and especially not coming from the voice that was just threatening him with every form of headache known to mankind.

"Derek?" He asked, groggy and fishing for time while he tried to get his bearings. He held the phone to the side of his face with one hand, and wiped at the sleep in his eyes with his other.

"No," she told him, huffing into the phone. "Your other sole surviving male family member." 

"Jesus." He responded, not really hurt at the words, but awakened by the fact that she was serious enough to bring it up. "What do you want out of this, Lydia?" 

"My father needs a place to stash a lot of money very quickly and tax free." 

"Use an offshore account. I don't understand why you're dragging me into this." 

"We're being audited and they're monitoring us for that sort of activity. I was thinking perhaps he could make a little donation publicly, and then you and I might negotiate the terms of a… loan to the church. No interest, as long as we're paid back in full when we come back." 

"So you need the church to stash money."

"That is what I said."

"And you think the best way to do this is to blackmail me… through my nephew… who, by the way, I've yet to hear any proof of him breaking vows, and I'm disinclined to believe it. Not only is Derek far too committed to his holiness, he's my nephew, and therefore probably better at being sneaky than most people would give him credit for, me included."

"I had him followed. I have pictures. Of him and the Stilinski boy. His lover." She managed to both sneer and spit the word. He was impressed. 

His mind began racing.

Lydia's loyalties had been volatile since her long time boyfriend came out as gay, and ran off with his best friend.

Out of spite, she had stonewalled her family into joining the nearest church whose official views looked down on homosexuality—his. And he knew that contributed to her willingness to throw Derek under the bus—especially since once again, Stiles, a guy that had been interested in her, had decided to play for the other team. That must rankle. 

"How much money are we talking, here?" 

She named a figure that made him let out a low whistle. 

That kind of money, as an actual donation to the church, would start his rise in the ranks again. 

Now that Derek was gone, the closest thing he had to a son no longer within his reach to help up, he wanted to get out of here. He had no need to be followed by these puppies, these seminarians… he might be a shepherd, but the bleating was starting to wear on him. 

And here was a potential way out, if he could just manage to twist it to his own uses. 

"Meet me after mass. Bring your evidence… we should talk."   
The line went dead just as his alarm went off. 

Just another day. And to think, he used to be so good. 

❦

They were holding hands. They were leaning together, chest to chest. They were kissing. Stiles was running his fingers over Derek's jaw. Down his neck. Lingering on the tab of his collar. 

They were going into an apartment building. Stiles's, he assumed. They were emerging, Derek changed into street clothes. They were in Derek's car. They were eating. Stealing fries. Sharing a drink.   
They were walking and Derek's hand was in Stiles's back pocket. 

 

Peter slipped the photographs back into the manilla envelope she'd handed him, and set it on the table between them. 

"I wondered why Matthew ran off a week ago. How much did you pay him?" 

She pursed her lips.   
"That's irrelevant. Let's focus on what you're going to be doing for me, so that those," she nodded at the envelope, "don't get seen by the wrong eyes." 

He folded his hands on the desk before him. 

"I've already made the arrangements. Are you sure, though, that I can't just tempt you into donating that money to the church? As a good Catholic family, surely yours is aware of all the good it could do…" He gave her his best greasy car salesman smile. 

"I really don't think that you're qualified to speak about being a good Catholic, father. How many times have you added to your Swiss bank account in the last year?" 

"I never confess to anyone not wearing a stole." He replied airily, waving her pointed inquiry away. 

She sat back in her chair and smirked. 

"The IRS should be done with their audit within a couple of months, right before school starts back up. You can manage not to spend daddy's money on alcohol, can't you?" She asked, her voice artificially sweet. He sighed. 

"It will be my own personal Gethsemane, but I think I will manage. Especially considering how many of your father's men come to me for confession." He all but winced, and it was her turn to smile.   
Her father was in a rough business, not entirely legal, and he knew for a fact that at least a good portion of the money their family made came from Lydia herself, and her chemistry prowess. These men sold what the Martins produced, and they defended it, sometimes with their lives, but more often with others'. And no matter how he might stray from the righteous path, that wasn't a gamble he was interested in taking.

"Well, I'm glad we understand each other then. Now, do you want me to take these with me, or would you like them where you can see them?" She tapped the folder containing the damaging photographs. 

He considered. Honestly, either option seemed dangerous, but he wasn't so naïve as to suppose she didn't have copies as it was, and keeping them here would make it possible for them to be found by any wandering eye. 

Desk drawers in churches don't have locks.

"Take them with you." He decided, passing them to her with a single finger. "They may come in useful on lonely nights. How are Danny and Jackson, by the way?" 

She stared at him for the space of a second, then stood, slapped him, gathered the envelope and her affects, and went to the doorway, pausing before actually opening it. 

"Keep in mind just how much you stand to lose here, Father Hale." 

"Please, my dear. If we're on blackmailing terms, I think first name basis would be much more appropriate. Goodbye, Lydia." 

"Go to Hell." She shot back, and then left in the space of a moment, not even staying to hear him mumble about how he probably would, someday. 

❦

The first sign that he saw that something was amiss was when he called upon her family for dinner one evening. 

He made a sly, offhanded remark about investing in the church, and rather than a small smile, a shared joke, Mr. Martin took it seriously. After dinner he went to his desk and cut a check for a few thousand dollars, and handed it to Peter. 

He thanked him, then turned to Lydia to raise an eyebrow. 

"Father, may I speak with you a moment? Father Peter, I mean."

He bowed his head. 

"Of course." And followed her to her room—a young woman's room, totally unsuited for her personality as he knew it. A reminder of how young she really was, behind the smarts and street roughened exterior.   
She closed the door behind her, and he raised his brow again. 

"Plausible Deniability." She told him frankly, seating herself on her vanity stool and gesturing that he might take the bed. "If he doesn't know where the money is and we get caught, I feel I owe him that level of protection at least."

He pressed a hand over his heart, twitching aside the hem of his robe as he sat.  
"You wound me, Lydia. Truly. What makes you think we'll be caught? Do you know something I don't?" 

"Just covering my bases." She shrugged. He took a moment to appreciate that shrug, and how her chest jiggled with it. 

"So if your father doesn't know about our arrangement, I would assume you told him that you have it someplace safe. And most safe places build up interest… or charge you for hiding it. What's your end of the deal looking like?"

"He's my father."

"And Jackson was your boyfriend. I know about you and loyalty." 

She was shocked silent for a minute, her mouth hanging slightly open. 

"That was hurtful, Peter. And unnecessary." 

"I'd apologize, but you're blackmailing me, so I really feel like we're beyond that." 

She looked unsure, and then stood, coming to straddle his knees and plant herself against him. 

"Are we beyond my asking just how far your deviation from your vows goes, as well?"

"I could show you, if you prefer." He murmured, already capturing her hair in a fist.   
She rolled her head in a way he recognized—the way that would make it hurt less if he decided to pull on it, but instead he just draped it over one shoulder, moving in to nuzzle at her neck.   
He planted a small kiss just below her ear, and she sighed, leaning into him until her breasts were pressed perfectly against his chest, and she could drape her arms over his shoulders. 

"Should I be concerned that your parents will interfere, or perhaps send some of their men after me in retribution, or are we beyond that, too?" 

"They don't bother me when the door's closed." She assured him, rolling her hips against him and making him bite his tongue. "And they aren't going to fight me about this, or I'll just stop cooking them product. Their men won't listen for long once the source dries up."

He squeezed his eyes against the sudden pleasure and pain, and moved his hands down her back to rest on the tight round globes of her ass. With little work, he had the hem of her sinfully short skirt in his fingers, and was lifting it up to her waist, palms sliding over the creamy, flawless skin of her lower back. 

"I want you." He told her, absolutely serious. 

"Take me then." She told him, lifting her head in a clear challenge, but baring her throat to him at the same time. He took advantage of the opening, licking a stripe up the thin column, over her pounding pulse point. "Or do you need some help? I could get you a sample of some of our wares—I understand we produce some smokables that will make you fuck like a wolf in heat."

He stood, lifting her with him and turning to place her on her bed. He covered her, the black of his robe swallowing up the bright floral print on her skirt like Hades dragging Persephone off into the darkness. 

But she was anything but the spirit of Spring, young yes, innocent no. 

And absolutely every bit as dangerous as he could be. 

"Some other time, maybe." He responded levelly, and locked his eyes with hers.

He pulled at the tie around his waist and laid it beside them on the bed, leaning in and claiming her mouth.   
The gloss on her lips made them sticky and slippery, and the kiss tasted like artificial strawberries, overly sweet and nearly bitter because of it. 

Fitting. 

Her mouth opened and he slipped his tongue in, finding resistance in the form of hers. They began fighting for dominance, and the fight abruptly ended when she managed to get his tongue captured between her lips, and could begin sucking it provocatively. 

He let out a surprised moan and broke away, almost painfully hard already. 

She lay there on her back, eyelids heavy with lust and pupils blown wide, just watching him. He undid the buttons that ran from collarbone to waist, and slipped his robe off, now in just pants and a shirt, and still too many layers. 

She sat up and plucked at his shirt, untucking it from his pants before beginning to unbutton it from the bottom up.   
He began at the neck, intending to meet her halfway, but he found it hard to focus on his hands.   
From this angle, she seemed so vulnerable, looking up at him with eyes made to seem even wider than they were with her simple black winged eyeliner.   
Her fingers brushed his, impatient, and he undid the last button, shirt falling open. 

He had to undo his sleeves before she could tug the shirt off, but when it fell, he left it where it lay.

She tugged next at the button of his slacks, managing to undo it before he caught her by the wrists and transferred both to one hand, keeping them above her head while he pulled up on her dress, turning it inside out in the process of lifting it over her head. 

He stared in silent appreciation at her satin and lace black bra, her matching black satin underwear with the panels of lace down the sides. He ran a gentle finger across the ribbon centered between her perfect breasts. 

"Has it been a while for you?" She asked, her mouth a perfect moue even though her voice was sweet. 

"Longer than I'd like." He replied airily, unwilling to admit to the actual numbers. They were measured in years, interrupted by a night with a hand other than his own, and the mouth of the very boy who helped to get him in this mess in the first place.   
Not that Matt wasn't useful, but he wasn't exactly as soft, as warm, as welcoming of his attentions as, say, Lydia. 

"We'll just have to rectify that, won't we?" she goaded. He shrugged and she stood up to wind her fingers into his hair, kissing him again before pitching backwards onto the bed, and pulling him with her. 

She bent her legs and spread her knees, cradling him to her body, and he could feel the heat of her burning against his stomach through the thin material between them. 

"And tell me, how long has it been for you?" 

"Are you asking for a confession, Father?" she teased, winding her feet around him to pull against his ass. "Is it more or less of a sin if you confess in the middle of it?" She bucked up into him, pushing him up her at the same time, so that the movement put pressure directly on the hard line of his dick. 

 

He let out a soundless moan and nipped at her lower lip. 

"That isn't exactly an answer." 

"Jackson left, and I had a fling with a cute boy at school." She bit her lip, looking devious. "He looked a lot like you, but without the experience. Honestly, I don't know what I was thinking."   
Her nails dusted down his back, barely skimming the surface of his skin, and he got even by unhooking her bra, one handed. 

"You didn't exactly answer either, you know." She pointed out, and he shook his head. 

"Six years." The number was heavy, weighted, and he paused out of respect for people he couldn't even properly mourn.

"Well, seven is a lucky number." She responded, blithe and ready to steer them away from unpleasantries. "What do you miss the most about sex?" 

"The witty conversation." He responded snidely, thumbing her nipples to watch her squirm.

"Mhm. Not the contact, the feeling of it?"

"The taste." It came out of nowhere, he didn't even mean to say it, but it was true. "The sweat, and the salt on skin…" 

She pursed her lips and pushed down on his shoulders.   
"Then taste." She ordered, her voice hitching. 

He stopped his descent with fingers on her cunt, massaging through the underwear. 

"Would you like that?" He asked, voice full of tease and promise. 

"My favorite part." There was strain on her voice now, lust addling her a bit. 

"Then beg for it. Ask nicely."

"I don't beg. You said you wanted this, so do it." 

"I think you do beg. Or you will. For me." He rubbed a small circle on her clit with his thumb, smirking when her hips bucked. He slid down, hands wrapping around her thighs, then sliding up to part them better. He leaned in, inhaling deeply, mouth twitching when her thigh muscles jumped under his hands. 

She writhed, trying to bring her cunt to his lips, but he held her down and chuckled. 

"I said, you'll have to ask for it." 

"Please." She bit out the word like it made her angry, and he grinned up at her from between her thighs.   
She pulled at his hair. 

He rose, crawling back up her, teasing. 

"Very good, you swallow your pride well. But you really need to work on your delivery. Learn to ask nicely." He gave her his best condescending teacher voice. 

"That's not all I swallow well, why don't we trade? You scratch my itch, I'll scratch yours." 

"Hmm." He slid his fingers back down to where he knew she would be missing the friction, this time inside of the underwear, hand down the waistband. 

It was almost a shock when he found her opening, when his fingers slid through the slick between her thighs. He'd forgotten how wet it would be.

She opened her mouth wide, her hips rocking, gasping like he was choking her. Which was a nice thought, all things considered, but not what he was going for. 

He pulled his hand back up and brought it to his mouth. He slid his tongue slowly up his fingers, pleased with how her eyes, so dark he could only barely see color around the pupils now, traced his movements. 

"Oh. My. God." She breathed out, her hand moving between their bodies to touch herself. 

"Ah ah ah." He chided. "Ask. Nicely. Because I've had my taste… there's really no need for me to do anything more. Unless you ask." 

"Please. Please, Pe—Father Peter, please, taste me? Touch me… do something. Fuck me. Please?" 

"Better. Much better." He slid back down, hitting the floor with his knees and dragging her forward until her hips rested on the edge of her bed. 

"Like praying." He muttered. She let out a breathy laugh. 

"More like the answer to your prayers. Please, Peter, just… do something!"

He pressed his tongue to the cloth covering her pussy, and licked, one long slow stripe upwards, kissing her clit and making her hips jump again. He pressed down on her pelvis, then pulled her underwear down, her knees up, slipping her panties off her feet and lifting them to his nose gracefully, like he was doing something as casual as dubbing his lips with a napkin after a meal.   
"Maybe it's the smell I missed. Not the taste after all." 

"Oh my God, Peter, just fuck me already, use your tongue, and fuck me with it, please."

"And here you used to be so eloquent." He tossed the underwear over his shoulder like it had offended him, and finally, finally moved in. He slid a finger up, teasing at her entrance and sucked her clit into his mouth, teasing at it with his tongue. 

She whined and her fingers tightened, her nails digging into his scalp.   
He retaliated by sliding a finger into her all the way up to the third knuckle.   
She gasped.   
He smirked against her skin and moved down, lapping at her hole where his finger slid in and out, teasing the juice out of her. 

"You taste amazing." He informed her, voice already rougher than it had been. 

"Don't." she told him, and he froze. "Don't stop."  
He pressed a second finger into her, feeling the drag as his dry skin pulled softly against her insides, before getting slicked by her. He scissored his fingers, stretching her, his tongue fluttering against her clit. 

"I'm not some… some first time prom date, you don't have to—ugh, just. Get inside of me already, Jesus, Peter. Six years, and you want to waste time doing—" She was halfway to rambling, and suddenly all he wanted was to shut her up. 

He stood, fingers sliding free even as her muscles tried to pull them in deeper. 

He gave her the fingers, dipping them into her lips, silencing her with the taste of herself, swallowing at the contrast between the thin slick of her cunt and the thick slime of her lipgloss, even as patchy as it was now. 

She sucked on them, and he felt a pull, deep in his gut, and leaned into it, until she let his fingers go.   
He slid his hand down to around her neck. 

"Okay?" He asked, and she nodded. 

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." 

He lined up and slid in with his left hand, his right squeezing just a little on her neck.   
She wrapped her legs around him and lifted her pelvis off the bed, arching into his thrust, her mouth falling open for air, even though he wasn't squeezing too hard just yet.

He wanted to say something, but nothing fit, so he just angled and pulled back before sliding home again, then again, his pace increasing until he found a rhythm. 

She cried out, twisting under him, and he tightened his hand around her neck. 

He pushed in then, one long deep stroke, then another, taking his time, before speeding up again, just a little, then incrementally more, until he was humping at her like an animal and she was gasping for air and clawing lines up his back. 

She pulled a hand away to slap at his wrist, and he let her breathe, stilling his hips. 

She pulled back, sliding up the bed, and she panted and crooked her finger at him, before patting the bed. 

"Don't think you get to be the only one on top in this relationship." 

He lowered himself down, and she mounted him, letting him pull off her bra. She rocked and began lifting and dropping herself, riding him, hair streaming back over her shoulders as she threw her head back. 

He thumbed her nipples, just looking up at her, his breath catching when his eyes caught and followed the trail of sweat down her torso. 

She reached behind herself, palming his balls and rocking down on him, nearly undoing him. 

"Close, Lydia… so close." 

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm… oh man, the next time you have confessional duty, I am going to tell you everything that happened here. In vivid detail." Her voice hitched as she lowered herself on last time, and he pushed upwards into her. She clamped down on him, moaning until it reached a soft scream. 

Her muscles fluttered around his cock and under his fingertips, and he pulled her down on him, rolling them so that he kneeled over her, and he pulled out, spilling across her stomach. 

"Holy fuck." She muttered. 

He laughed. 

"Exactly."

❦

It was true, it had been a while. And, with Derek there, he'd had to limit his extrasecular activities to drinking and the occasional secret and very rare mutual groping with one of his underlings—Matt had gotten a little clingy. He would have to deal with him at some point. 

Probably sooner than later, actually, with how he stared every time Peter left the church, which was an increasingly often occurrence. 

"But why should he care?" Lydia argued, her back to Peter as she puttered on her dresser. 

"Jealousy. Until you, he was the only person around who was either ballsy enough or demented enough to help a priest get his rocks off."

"Thanks for that." She snapped back, but there was no real anger in her voice. "I thought you said it had been years?" 

"Years since I was with a woman. Years since anything more than a blow job."

"And of course, it's the guy I used to gather the blackmail with your nephew in it… oh, you should have told me sooner."

"I'll take care of it, don't worry." 

She turned back to face him, a blunt laying heavy in her fingers. 

"I can help you not worry about it. If you'll let me, that is."

He pushed himself into a more upright position, from where he'd been reclining on her bed. 

"What does that entail, exactly?" His eyes bounced from her hands to her breasts to her face. 

"Just this, and me, for now—we'll decide what to do about him later, but it's a decision we both need to make, considering how we'd both be affected if he came out with guns blazing, so to speak. I'm sorry. I saw him always at your beck and call and thought he was trustworthy." 

"He is. To a point." He shrugged and pulled her closer. 

She climbed up, straddling him, and reached past his shoulder to the headboard, retrieving a lighter and bringing it and the reefer to her lips. 

She drew in a long, slow breath, and released it, smoke pouring from between her lips and out her nose while she put the lighter back down.   
He crossed his arms over her back, pressing her to his chest and trapping her there. 

She didn't fight the grip, which was odd, and simply raised it back to her lips, taking another drag before blowing the smoke out in his face. 

He plucked the joint from her fingers and took his own lungful of the sweet weed, surprised when she leaned in to lock her mouth over his own before he could blow out. 

His stomach lurched, lust rapidly uncoiling there, as she breathed in what he let out, and she shifted on top of him, feeling his reaction and giggling. 

"This is so fun," she said in her teasing, cruel little voice. "I'm used to being the responsive one in the relationship."

"Oh, you're responsive all right." He lowered his chin, looking at her from under his brows, an intimidation technique that had long been useful for misbehaving children.   
"I bet, even now, you have blood rushing to your clit, while the pot curls up in a soft haze in your head." He could feel the drug affecting him the same way, already, and she'd had more of it than him. "I imagine you feel an aching emptiness that just cries for being filled. Don't you?" 

She exhaled loudly, her eyes slipping shut as she let a hand travel down her front. 

"Yes." It came out on a breath, and he smiled at the effect of his words. 

"Do you want to ride me, or do you want me to own you, possess you?" He batted her hand off her tit and pinched at the pebbling nipple through the satin of her shift. 

"I just want to feel you everywhere." She told him, and he paused, mind scrambling to decide what that meant. 

She pushed the joint back into his mouth and he took another drag, before putting it into her ashtray, safely out of skin burning reach. 

He was glad he'd peeled back to normal clothes when he'd gotten here—he could only imagine trying to rearrange them in a robe.   
He rolled them onto their sides, turned her so that her back was to him, and he ran a hand up her thigh, gathering her slip to her waist.   
He tucked himself tight against her, making sure they were touching everywhere he could reach. 

She ground back, into his erection. 

"Do you think Matt would behave if we just had a threesome?" She murmured, and his heart stuttered in his throat. 

"Is that a real question, or do you just want a threesome?" He asked, words sharp and taunting. 

"Is that an evasion or are you just opposed to sharing?"

He growled into the nape of her neck and she giggled, stopping short when he thrust his hips upwards into her ass. 

She reached behind herself, scrabbling for his zipper, and he pushed her hand out of the way, taking care of it himself. 

"Not in the ass." She warned him, and he chuckled, the sound going straight into her ear. 

"Please, I am a gentleman! I wouldn't dream of it, without permission and preparation." 

"The answer would be no. But anyway, just… get on with fucking me. Please?" The request was tacked on, and not smoothly at all. 

"So demanding, for such a sweet, innocent little thing."

She scoffed and bent her knee, moving her leg to open it up for him to align himself with her, and slide in.   
He couldn't achieve the same sort of depth in this position, but she had said she wanted to feel him everywhere… and with his arms wrapping around her, and his front pushed all along her back, this was as close as he could get. 

And it was good, the lovemaking slow and comfortable, and much less of a power play when the air was dominated by the smell of the drug.   
He let himself relax into the physical efforts, the pleasure, the glow… and put off worrying about Matt for later.   
Much later.

They curled into one another, afterwards, still riding one high or another, happy to be touching and resting, relaxed.  
It was nice, then, having someone to be physical with again. And she was so receptive, so willing to learn his likes and bend to his will. 

Not that she didn't have a will of her own that she was more than willing to exert at the drop of a hat. Or a belt. Or a rosary. 

"What do you think about just… leaving me the money. Letting me give it to the church as a donation. It can be anonymous. But think of all the good it could do." He offered, while he rubbed her shoulders, one evening, after another bout of toe curling, sweat summoning bed play. 

"Mmm, No." Was her response, and he sighed. 

"It would help me along, you know. Stop my stagnation, get me moving up in the ranks again… I'm sure you can think ahead better than I can. Can't you think of any reason you might need a powerful voice in the Catholic church, in the future?"

"No." She managed to reproduce the same tone and timing as the first time she said it. 

"Where do you even see yourself, in the future? How long do you suppose you have before they catch you, put you on trial?" 

"Electoral debates." She responded, her voice soft and sleepy sounding. 

"Well, you are a born leader—but wouldn't being propagandized by the church only help your stance? And help hide your past crimes, in the event that some of your family's customers attempt to come forward?"

"My stance is gay rights, Peter. The Catholic church is never going to allow it, no matter how high up you get." She just sounded amused, though, like she was waiting for him to get the joke.

He went quiet, thinking about it. If her stance was pro-gay, then why—

"It isn't your father's money, is it?" Pieces felt like they were falling into place. "It's yours."

"It is. There is no investigation. And yes, a quarter of that is for donation, giving you a chance to move up in position, for when I do, eventually, need you to smooth my way along. The rest was just a carrot to dangle, so you would stop seeing me as the little girl who once confessed to having broken a crayon on the first day of school to you." She looked smug, pleased with herself, and pleased with him for having caught on.

"To be honest, I didn't remember until you said that, but point made. Sweet, brilliant girl… does that mean you won't be reporting Derek after all?"

"Why would I do that? I've gotten what I wanted out of this." 

"And what was that?" 

"Your cooperation. A safe place to stash my earnings, for the future backing of my campaign. Oh, and your chastity." She grinned up at him, and he swooped in and kissed her nose. 

"Charming. I don't suppose this means that you and I will be on even footing now, though? I'm not leaving the priesthood for you, not that it sounds like you want me to."

"No, that's fine. I'm not looking for a defined relationship, marriage, kids—I want to focus on my career. And you should focus on yours. And also possibly the erection you're starting to get, while daydreaming about your future power trip."

"Mm. I think my next job is to convince you to make that fifty percent. That, or anal. "

"Maybe if you ask nicely. In fact, I think I want you to beg."

"For which one?"

"Yes."

He went at it with a level of enthusiasm he hadn't exhibited since his family died. And the best part was, he didn't know who would win. 

Thank God.


End file.
